


To Tortuga!

by Walsingham



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: A little angst, Asexuality, Gen, Gibbs is ace and no one can tell me otherwise, just a smidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 00:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11635458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walsingham/pseuds/Walsingham
Summary: The Pearl makes port in Tortuga and the crew quickly disperses, leaving Gibbs to his wanderings.





	To Tortuga!

**Author's Note:**

> This is based partially on my own experiences with being asexual so it mightn't be everyone's experience but that doesn't make it less valid or realistic.

Gibbs stepped off the wharf and breathed deeply, not moving as the rest of the crew of the _Black Pearl_ pushed past him. Everyone else moved quickly to their favourite bars and brothels. Marty took the arm of a woman within seconds and they disappeared into a dark doorway, and still Gibbs didn’t move.

He inhaled the smells of Tortuga. The tang of the salty sea air mixed with sourness of drunk men’s breath and the sweetness of women without virtue. Lanterns flickered and swung in the evening light, making the shadows of ramshackle buildings and people in ecstasy shift eerily. Coming up behind him, Jack clapped a hand to Gibbs’ shoulder, but the older man didn’t flinch.

“Drink?”

“Drink.”

The two men walked off to their usual haunt, their steps automatically matching up to each others’ as the sounds of the water slapping the _Pearl_ ’s hull were lost amongst the constant music and voices of Tortuga.

Soon, Jack and Gibbs were sitting opposite each other at a worn but sturdy table, hands wrapped around cold tankards. They had to lean in close to be heard over the din of the rowdy crowd as they chatted about their next course. Or rather, as Gibbs tried to wheedle any useful information about their next course out of Jack. Jack leant back to take a gulp of rum from his tankard, his sharp eyes watching the other patrons. Gibbs knew this look well.

“See anything you like?” Gibbs asked, peering at Jack over the rim of his tankard. Jack’s eyes cut back to his first mate and he sniffed, nose crinkling briefly. 

“Maybe in a few drinks’ time,” Jack replied, tipping the dregs of his rum down his throat. The beads in his hair rattled together like small bones. “There’s a few wenches giving you the eye though. I reckon it’s the pony tail.”

Gibbs chuckled good naturedly, shaking his head at his captain.

“No? How about a prettyboy then? I know a place…”

Gibbs blushed this time but still shook his head, staring into the dirty depths of his tankard. Jack looked at him with a slight look of shock.

“What do you do for fun then, Master Gibbs?”

“Drink, mostly.”

“Aye, that’s about right.” Jack swiped a fresh tankard from someone with their back turned as he stood up, drinking long and deep. Amber liquid leaked from the corners of his mouth and dripped into his beard. He replaced the now-empty mug and wiped his face with a sleeve, the tails of his coat fanning out around him. Jack stepped out from the bench, swaying slightly, and looked pointedly at someone behind Gibbs. He picked up his captain’s hat from where it had sat beside him and perched it on top of his head, touching the rim to Gibbs. “See you back at the _Pearl_.”

Gibbs raised his tankard to him in response and watched Jack swan off, a pale slip of a woman catching his arm and whispering in his ear as he went. Gibbs downed the rest of his rum and stood up, pushing his bench back with a squeak. He forced his way through the crowd, the body heat stifling, and out into the relatively fresh air. He tripped slightly over the threshold but caught himself before landing in the mud. 

“Can’t handle your drink, grandpa?” someone sneered as Gibbs paused to gather himself against a thin wooden pillar. 

“Blast ye,” Gibbs muttered, not turning towards the voice. Something about Tortuga always threw him. He strode down the unpaved street, occasionally having to dodge airborne bottles or fists. 

Gibbs always heard Jack saying that if every town was like Tortuga, no one would ever be lonely. As Gibbs wandered through the streets, he wasn’t sure he agreed. He never found what the rest of the _Pearl_ crew seemed to find here, behind ratty curtains and between stained sheets, even if they had to part with a pouch of coins to cover it. Early on, when he had just turned pirate, he tried it all. He’d been with women who shouted their prices on the streets and men who’d hidden behind codes and secrets. He even almost thought he liked it. It wasn’t like it was an itch he couldn’t scratch, it was more like an itch he thought he should have, but didn’t and scratched at it anyway.

And so, he drank. More than ever after he realised that the main vice of Tortuga wasn’t what he needed or even liked. What he was searching for couldn’t be bought at any price. He never looked at another person and felt the sexual attraction he expected and maybe hoped to feel. Nothing stirred or hardened. He felt it in his chest more than anything, felt something squeeze his heart and lungs almost painfully if someone did catch his eye.

Gibbs kept walking, uncapping and taking a measured swig from the flask on string tied around his chest. It dulled the yearning a little. He trudged along and imagined he was alone on the main street back home. His waistcoat was no longer torn at the sleeves, his shiny black shoes tapped on the cobblestones, the sound echoing off the brick buildings that lined the street. He could almost see his breath curling in the air in front of him, feel a tie snug around his throat. There was a figure at the other end of the street, and his heart thumped, disturbing the cobwebs that had built up in his chest. All he could see was the outline of the dress, the billowing skirts black against the yellow streetlights, but he’d recognise that silhouette anywhere.

“Eleanor,” Gibbs murmured, “my love.”

He began to move more purposefully towards the figure of his wife, but a sudden weight on his left hand slowed him down. He took a slow step forward, just about making out her gentle smile. He took another, but the weight dragged him further down, forcing him to stoop. He looked down at his hand and saw the simple gold wedding band that he’d pawned years ago shining on his ring finger. Gibbs looked up again to plead with Eleanor for help, but her expression had turned sour as she stared down at him. His knuckle brushed the ground as he dragged himself forward once more before collapsing onto the cobblestones with the effort, sweat prickling on his neck. Eleanor stepped forward, her skirts barely rustling, and her face contorted into utter disgust.

“Please, Eleanor, I’m s-”

“You’re a disgrace to men, Joshamee.” Eleanor’s voice crackled in the crisp air, harsher than he remembered it being. “If you cannot give me a child, you are not worthy of being a husband. You are not worthy of your sex.”

A cry began to build in Gibbs’ throat, cutting off the air, but from elsewhere a scream that dissolved into laughter forced him rudely back into present-day. His knees ached where he’d fallen onto them in the dirt road, hard. The sights, sounds and smells of Tortuga came back to him in a rush like he was breaking through the surface of the sea. The cobblestone street was gone, and Eleanor with it. He panted, swallowing the cry, and glanced around him, but no one paid him any mind, assuming he was just another drunk.

As he stood, he felt the cooling night air wind around his calves where his tattered trousers no longer covered. He thumbed the base of his left ring finger, but nothing was there anymore. His heart began to rise and expand in his chest, but he drowned it with rum from his flask again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> xxx


End file.
